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♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotica by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013.

All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Maybe I shouldn’t have provoked him? It had been a good three years since he’d last caned me. Let’s see. Yes, I was just nineteen at the time. I’d been slacking at University and it had come to my father’s attention. Despite getting a full grant, I relied on my parents to help out financially as living in the city was really expensive.

It had been one of my ‘mates’ who’d told him. I never did find out which one shopped me, though there were a couple of prime suspects. I’d let slip to the gang that my father was a schoolteacher and a firm believer in the cane. They had obviously thought it was a laugh to grass me up. Still, it did buck up my ideas and I went on to achieve a respectable 2.1, better than some of the other gang members.

Well, here we were three years later. A dozen red raw cane stripes were decorating my bottom. They hurt me badly as I sat down on the toilet seat. I could have hovered, I suppose, but that would have been just too demeaning. The hot stripes throbbed on the cold, cold toilet seat.

I’d imagined fondly that my father would have thrown that beastly cane away, at least by the time I’d graduated. I was wrong! It had been hibernating in the extra-wide desk drawer it had always been kept in. He told me that he oiled it regularly with finest linseed oil. I thought that was a rather strange revelation, as I bent over the desk, lowering jeans and pants submissively. It was almost as if he’d been planning to use it in anger again. The beating when it came was hard, relentless and shaming.

So what had brought this on? Well, drink was to blame, no doubt about that. That and my own stupidity. I’d got up to use the bathroom at about 5 in the morning, and had left a Kleenex full of spunk on the side of the bath accidentally, instead of flushing it away. Fortunately, mother was on an overnight shift at the hospital, so the next person to use the bathroom was my father. Of course, he discovered my carelessness.

That fateful day he was ‘working from home’ in his study. He summoned me in and produced the offending item, which had pretty much dried out by then. He held it in a pair of tweezers as if it was infected, or some piece of forensic evidence. He made me feel so ashamed.

“What on earth would have happened if your mother had found this?” he asked. “She might have thought I’d been jacking off in the bathroom when all along it was yours!”

It was a good point. I hadn’t left it on purpose, of course. In fact, I’d been so drunk while I was masturbating that I was surprised I’d been able to cum at all. Anyway, his face was red with anger, and mine was red with embarrassment.

“It’s time you got yourself a nice girlfriend and settled down, instead of playing with yourself like some teenager. Now then Vincent, what are you going to do to make it up to me?” Dad had asked. He wasn’t angling, I think. It was a kind of rhetorical question. I could tell that he was annoyed with me, as that was the only time he ever used my unabbreviated name.

Somewhat foolishly, and still hungover, I’d said to him, “It’s a shame you don’t have a cane any more. That would have cleared the air.” It must have been the association of his study with past canings that had made me blurt this out.

It was just at that time that he produced the old cane from its hiding place. My jaw dropped as he said, “What a good idea!”

My fate was sealed. It had been a long time. He swished the cane menacingly but with a big grin on his face. Right then, I’d like to have slapped it, but I was the one in for a stinging caress. It was almost as if he was going to enjoy it! When I was a lad, he’d always carried out my beatings with the most grim of expressions. Now, there was a sickening grin, which was even more humiliating, strangely enough. It was as if he’d trapped me, but in truth my downfall was all my own fault.

The dozen strokes he dished out hurt like hell. It was the most savage beating I’d ever had from him. Maybe he’d decided to make it harder to cut through my hangover and make a real impression? Believe me, twelve vicious strokes was ample! However, as I sat on the white plastic toilet seat a little later, a not unpleasant glow spread around my buttocks. Perhaps it hadn’t been so bad after all? In fact, perhaps it had been a little bit pleasurable? My cock stirred and forced itself into my waiting hand. Yes, I told myself, it hadn’t been too bad, and it was a bit of a turn-on! As I wanked away, I promised myself I’d get another caning off him. If all else failed, I could always leave another Kleenex in the bathroom to secure some more discipline! My mind was racing, and I resolved to talk to him. I left it until the following day, just to be sure my feelings hadn’t been clouded by the hangover.

He was in his study, packing his briefcase. Obviously, that day he was going to be heading to his city office at some stage.

“Dad, we need to talk. Thank you for caning me yesterday. It was embarrassing and it really hurt me, but I deserved it for being so stupid and so, so thoughtless. I don’t want you to feel guilty or to worry that I’m too old for discipline. My friend Joe still gets it from his father and he’s twenty-five!” Of course, what my father didn’t know was that my friend was a figment of my imagination.

Dad didn’t seem to mind my suggestion at all, as that grin of his reappeared.

“I understand, son. At least, I think I do. So that gives me three years or so to knock you into shape, then?” he laughed.

I nodded. He leant back in his chair, opened a drawer and pulled something out. He placed it on the tooled leather top of the desk. It wasn’t the cane though. It was a can of linseed oil.

I knew I was in big trouble as soon as Dad called me into his little office. He stood there with one of his many canes in his hands. I gulped with fear, for I had never been able to take his canings stoically. No, there were always tears, cries and desperate pleading and wriggling under the lash of the cane. I had hoped now that I’d turned eighteen, that the canes might be retired. It seemed not.

“Peter, you were sick in bed this morning. You hadn’t been drinking again, I hope?”

“No Dad. Sorry. It was nothing like that.”

“Good! Otherwise this beauty would be teaching you a lesson.”

I didn’t share his view of what constituted beauty. In fact, I would have classified that whippy cane as a beast! As one of those rare strict Methodists, I knew he didn’t like me touching alcohol.

“So, what did make you sick then, lad?”

I didn’t feel like lying. It wasn’t really in my nature. I thought it best to confess, so I pulled the blister pack of blue pills out of my leather jacket. I handed them to my father. I could tell that he thought they were drugs.

“It was these that made me sick Dad, they taste awful!”

He read the lettering out loud, “Vigorlon Penis Enlargement Pills! I don’t believe it! These things are just a con! I can’t believe that a son of mine was so stupid as to fall for one of these scams!”

I stood there embarrassed, and red-faced.

“I’m sorry Dad. It was just a whim when I bought them.”

“Over the internet, I suppose?”

I nodded.

“With your card?”

I nodded.

“You stupid boy! So this is what you waste your allowance on! You’ll probably have to cancel your debit card too. I wonder what else you’ve been looking at on the internet, you haven’t been looking at pornography?”

I couldn’t lie. My Methodist upbringing had taught me that lying was a most serious sin. Of course I’d been looking at porn.

Again, I nodded at Dad.

“Well, that’s good,” he laughed. “Most men do.”

I was amazed when he said that, so I just nodded again, this time with a little smile. I was even more amazed when he put the cane down on the desk and offered me a chair. He poured me a glass of water from his cut-glass decanter.

“Well, well, well,” he said eventually, “I really don’t know what to make of you, young Peter. You’re at a difficult age, aren’t you? Part man, part boy, I’d say. Maybe more boy.”

Once again, I found myself nodding in agreement. Experience had taught me never to argue with Dad once we were in his small home office. I drank the water nervously. It was refreshing, as I was still dehydrated after being sick. Things were looking good. He picked up the cane and placed it back in the brass umbrella stand, where it was kept along with several other rattans and a rather faded gents umbrella. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was too good to last, however.

“NOW LISTEN TO ME!” Suddenly, his tone became fierce. “I am quite insulted that you feel that the penis your mother and I gave you at birth isn’t big enough! The Lord moves in mysterious ways, you know.”

Here we go, I thought to myself. My bottom started to tingle.

“And! Let there be no doubt in your mind that I am very, very unhappy that you have spent money, the hard-earned allowance money I’ve given you, on this rubbish!”

He waved the strip of pills at me. Slowly, he popped each of the remaining blue tablets out of the blister pack. He counted the pills out loud. There were fifteen. I just knew where this was leading.

“Fifteen pills, fifteen strokes!” he announced. He reached behind him and selected a more severe rattan with a crook handle.

“But Dad, I’m eighteen now!”

“Good point, Peter. We’ll make it eighteen, then. Over the desk, trousers down!”

I wasn’t going to argue. I bent over submissively and the first cane stroke hit home. Oh, it was a hard one, for a first stroke. He was really angry, I could tell. He’d been hiding it well, but now the cane was letting him vent his full fury. That was reinforced by the second and third strokes which were straight out of the fires of Hell.

“Underpants down! Fifteen strokes on the bare for the fifteen pills.”

I wasn’t going to argue, as I lowered my pale blue Jockeys. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that it was a hundred pills I’d ordered!

Stroke four sliced into my naked flesh. I was gasping, close to hyperventilating. I cried out loudly. I knew that would amuse him. For a religious man, he had a streak of sadism. Yes, there was a lot of cruelty within him.

I took the fifth quietly, and then the sixth much the same. He moved things up a gear as the seventh was by far the hardest yet. By now I was squirming under the cane’s vicious caress. My bottom was writhing, first in one direction, then the other in a vain attempt to avoid the blows of the cane. Eight! Nine! Ten! I was counting them quietly under my breath, while silent salty tears streamed down my face. This was a hellish beating!

He stopped and grunted. Suddenly, his hands were feeling the cane ridges on my bottom. He’d never done that before, and it was so humiliating, especially as he barked at me to keep still. He changed canes.

“Number Two cane to finish off, Peter.”

In all my years, and through numerous beatings, I could never fathom out the significance of the numbering system of his canes. Perhaps there wasn’t one, and this was all part of a sadistic game? All I knew was that Number Two cane was named appropriately, as it hurt like shit.

“AARRGH!” I cried as the eleventh stroke slashed down, quickly followed by a twelfth, landing just below.

Dad laid thirteen and fourteen diagonally, which was agony. The final four strokes were aimed at the tops of my thighs, his speciality, and they stung like mad. Strangely, all I could think about was that I wouldn’t be wearing my Speedos down on the beach for a while!

I wasn’t crying heavily, but my face was covered in snot. Dad offered me a tissue. I’d been trying not to say thank you, as an act of defiance, but it just sort of slipped out. He grinned when I said it. At times like that I really hated him. My only consolation was that my mother and sister were out shopping, so my beating had been a private, man thing.

That evening, I was over at my friend Andrew’s house. Somehow the story of the day’s events came out. I’d been trying to hide it, as I knew my friend had an unhealthy interest in my beatings. He managed to worm every little detail out of me this time. Nonetheless, he asked if he could see the marks, almost as if he didn’t believe me.

“Pervert!” I accused.

“No, really, I just want to understand. Although I could put some cold cream on them, I’m sure my mum’s got some in the bathroom.”

Reluctantly, I agreed. Andrew traced each and every mark with his forefinger. I’d found the day pretty confusing all round. My head was far from clear. Maybe it was another side-effect of those blue pills?

Andrew came back from the bathroom with a jar of cream. Gently, he massaged it into my bottom. My cock suddenly burst into life! It was rock hard. We gazed into each others eyes and knew we were going to have to take things further. No erection pills would be required! This time he put his forefinger into the jar of cream and then shoved the finger up my arsehole. His lips caressed my cock. He worked that cock for all it was worth. I came heavily in his mouth.

We lay exhausted on his bed for a few tender minutes. I offered to reciprocate. He just laughed.

“Not likely, mate. I’m not sticking my todger in there. Those pills have dyed your tongue blue. They could be poisonous, you know. Chinese, were they? I don’t want a blue cock, you know!”

I was really turned on by then. I offered him anal instead. I wanted it myself, but was a little reluctant only because my arse was still sore after the caning (and despite the cold cream massage). Andrew couldn’t believe his luck. Fortunately, he had a condom, and with the help of the cold cream we were soon at it. He thrust and thrust into my willing, striped arse. The knobbing felt even better than his forefinger had. It wasn’t long before he shot his load. It had been a short fuck alright, but we were both satisfied.

We lay in each others arms again, gently petting. He whispered in my ear, “Could you sneak out one of your dad’s canes? I want to try it.”

It seemed a strange request at first. But as I laid there in the afterglow, it seemed to make sense eventually. After all, it was a caning that had brought us together and I knew just which cane to smuggle out. It would have to be Number Two.

______________)

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* IMPORTANT – DISCLAIMER *

This is a work of fiction. The author does not participate in substance abuse or condone it.

FURTHER DISCLAIMER: All characters and products appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Explicit spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne – strictly over-18s only!

What a stupid question! No, of course not! No, I never regretted moving to the coast. Why would I? A tidy little inheritance and my early retirement had enabled it. My house was one of a detached pair in typical 1950s style. With extensive sea views and long gardens, I counted my good fortune every single day. The coastal climate was fantastic and I felt ten years younger at least. In fact, the only annoyance at my new home was the seagulls. Of course, you get them almost everywhere inland these days, but I did tire of their constant noise and of them shitting all over the place.

My neighbour was Mr Shepard. He was 70, if he was a day. He was a retired barber from the West End of London. He used to regale me with tales of his famous and infamous customers, though rarely of the more humdrum ones. Evidently, his salon had been a fairly lucrative business.

He was a stocky man, completely bald on top but with a neatly trimmed white moustache. He always wore dark, neatly pressed trousers and had a taste for striped shirts. His shoes shone immaculately, whether brown or black, and he always wore a matching thick leather belt. It soon became clear to me that this handsome old devil was gay, whereas my own sexuality had always been a little, how shall we say, ambiguous? Despite myself, I fancied him something rotten.

I was amazed to find he’d refitted one of the downstairs rooms of his home as a bijou barber’s salon. There was just one leather padded adjustable barber’s chair, but the illusion was completed by all the usual trappings – a huge mirror lit from above, clippers, razors, combs, towels, tubs of dressings, styptic pencils and even a display of what appeared to be fine old Fetherlite and Gossamer condom advertisements. On hooks to the side of the chair hung a back mirror, a razor strop and somewhat incongruously, a school cane. I asked him about that cane.

“Oho, that! Gets a lot of comment, that! I call it my barber’s pole! I used to use the strop and cane on uncooperative customers, back in the day.”

I assumed he meant young customers but I couldn’t be sure! I wanted to talk about it a bit more, but didn’t know how to tune the conversation in on the subject. In truth, I’d been caned at school rather a lot and began to enjoy the invigorating sting of the rattan. I was waiting for him to offer me a short back and sides, or a short, sharp shock, but sadly neither was mentioned!

It was a few days later when we were sat in his garden enjoying the summer sunshine and the cool ocean breeze. I gazed lovingly into his sea-blue eyes. I sipped at my vodka and Coke and cursed as a seagull crapped on the cast iron table we were sat at.

“Those fuckin’ seagulls! Always shitting everywhere!”

“Tut, tut, Jason! What awful language! I ought to tan your hide with my strop and pole for that. Wherever did you pick up such foul language?”

My first thought was that I’d picked it up at school, like you do, decades before! I blushed a little. It was as if he could read my every thought.

“You’re right of course! You should tan me,” I laughed nervously as the words tripped out.

“Inside then!” he ordered. Oh my God! He wasn’t joking.

I soon found myself bent over the magazine table in his salon room. A pile of football and girlie mags fell to the floor. I felt his hot breath behind me as his hands made for my belt buckle. He must have done this before as he released the belt like an expert, undid the button and zip and yanked my trousers right down.

“Actually, you’re far too low there. Let’s have you over the arm of the barber’s chair instead.”

I waddled over with my trousers around my ankles. But the barber’s chair was too high! He pumped the chair down a little. I stared into the big mirror to my right. I was horrified to see him approach and then pull down my boxers. My naked arse was on display to Mr Shepard and the mirror. He pushed me down so that I was bent over the arm with my hands resting on the chair seat.

“Now that’s what I call an arse!” he laughed, landing a hearty slap right on my naked bum. I reflected that he was the one using less than refined language now, but I wasn’t going to argue as I spied him reaching for his leather strop. I began to fear it. It looked heavy and purposeful. Obviously, it was a professional piece of kit from the days when things were made properly here in England before our industrial decline.

Crack! The heavy leather hit me hard. My worst fears were confirmed. This was no toy; this was the real thing! It burnt and blazed and was rapidly followed by another equally hard stroke.

A third lick of the leather bit into my reddening arse. “Shit!” I muttered quietly to myself, mindful of how my bad language had landed my in this humiliating position. I stuck my bottom out ready for the next stroke. It wasn’t long coming, and was followed by another two in rapid succession. That made six in total, surely enough to satisfy him and to make amends? Evidently not! The sadistic bastard cackled loudly and lashed seven, eight and nine into me. I’d had enough pain, but some pleasure was kicking in now, too.

“Last three,” he announced. He left me there waiting for them for what seemed like ages. Suddenly a hard stroke hit my left cheek, and then an equally stinging one hit the right. A final stroke landed right in the middle of both cheeks. It really was a killer blow, forcing me to cry out. Gently, I rose and started to rub my assaulted arse. He cackled again.

“I don’t know where you think you’re going, young man! That concludes the razor stropping, but there’s still the cane to come! So you can get down again. And make it smart, otherwise you’ll get double!”

I did as I was told, bending back over the barber’s chair, slyly catching a quick glimpse of my reddened arse in the mirror. What a sight! As I bent over again, I realised I really wanted the caning. It had been a long time, but I really needed it. As the first rattan stroke lashed down, my memory of beatings past surfaced. I remembered distinctly how I’d grown to like the sting, which wasn’t what was meant to happen in a punishment. Yes, I liked the bite and the sting, and maybe the shame too!

A second stroke broke my nostalgic reverie as it hit just below where the first had landed. Both marks throbbed and ached as my tormentor paced around the room, whipping the cane through the air. He cackled and admonished me, “I hope I’m getting through to you, young Jason. I won’t have any foul language in my garden or house. Is that clear?”

I agreed submissively as he sliced a third cane stroke down on my naked bottom. I was enjoying the beating but it did hurt like fuck. I was torn between pain and pleasure. He stopped to pick up the magazines from the floor. I watched him in the mirror as best I could. He tutted as he assembled the reading pile back on the table. He lined the magazines up neatly, almost obsessively. I began to suspect he was trying to wind me up by making me wait for further cane strokes.

At last, he was back and a fourth stroke sliced me, and then a fifth. He stopped to feel my bare arse. The old perv! His hands were cold as they surveyed the damage the strop and cane had inflicted. His fingers lingered over each weal, and then he rubbed my bottom as if to make it feel better, but then he landed a swift slap right over the marks. He laughed and picked up the cane.”This will be the last one as long as you promise to do as I say.”

I promised, not really knowing what was in store, although I could hazard a guess. The sixth stroke sliced into me. It was a hard, unforgiving stroke. I grunted with pain.

After my beating, I was dragged off to his master bedroom. It was a masculine room, with no pretence of routine domesticity. The decor was predominantly black, red and white, just like the salon room below. The duvet and sheets were shiny, satin black. So was the condom he slid onto his impressive erection. That was a barber’s pole of magnificent proportions! He started off spooning me, which wasn’t uncomfortable, but he soon demanded doggy which was both humiliating and painful. He pounded my beaten arse like a man possessed. He grunted and sighed and I squeezed my anal muscles to increase his pleasure. I knew there and then that this would become a permanent arrangement. My bottom was his to beat and fuck as he saw fit. Oh yes! What a man!

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot and brand spanking new fiction by very special guest author Charles Hamilton the Second. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are aged 18 or over.

When my uncle put me across his knee and spanked my bare bottom I don’t know which of us enjoyed it more, him or me.

I come from a strange family. Mum was one of ten children. Ten! Poor gran; she must have been exhausted the whole time. I bet granddad had a whale of a time though.

Uncle Neil was the youngest of the lot. I was eighteen and he was only twenty-eight. I was causing my mum a lot of problems. The main problem was that I was eighteen. Like so many people that age I was totally selfish, I thought the world should revolve around me. I was arrogant and you couldn’t tell me anything. I disrespected my mother at every turn.

I had left school at sixteen – the earliest possible age – and I hadn’t had anything that you could call a proper job since. I lazed about the flat all day and drove mum mad.

My dad had skedaddled after my younger brother was born and left mum on her own to raise two kids. How could she cope with me? At last mum and Uncle Neil said I needed a “time out.” They said I should go stay with him for a while, until I sorted myself out a bit.

Uncle Neil might only be twenty-five, but already he was a great success. He had an important job with an advertising agency. I’m not sure exactly what he did but it bought him a smashing apartment on the fourth floor of a block overlooking the marina. It had every conceivable gadget. He drove a flash Jeep and spent a lot of cash on his clothes and his looks.

The expensive facials, haircuts and nail jobs he paid for made him stand out in a crowd. He was gym-fit. He tried to encourage me to take exercise – he said I should go running or to go work out. He reckoned it would make me a much happier person. He said when you exercised hard chemicals in your brain changed and it made you feel really good – it was much better than taking drugs. I can’t remember what the chemical was called, but it was something like “dolphins.”

I didn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t be bothered.

He didn’t have a girlfriend. When I asked him about it he flushed scarlet and said he was too busy at work. I didn’t believe him; he would be a great catch for any girl. I reckoned there was some special lady he was trying to capture, but she was giving him a hard time. Who knew, perhaps she was already married; not that that seemed to bother people these days.

Uncle Neil wanted me to get a job. Any job, he said. I whined that there were no jobs, not for people like me who left school with no qualifications. He scoffed. He was having none of it. He said I should take any job going, even if it was only part-time. There was plenty going in burger bars and pubs. Supermarkets always wanted people to fill shelves and carry boxes.

Once I had a job, he lectured me, I could make your way up the company. Or, after a while I could get a better job somewhere else. If nothing else, I could get some “work discipline” and prove that I could get up in the morning and put in a shift – every day.

I ignored him on that too.

After a month with me lounging around the apartment in my underwear most of the time, Uncle Neil snapped. He gave me an ultimatum. It was, he said, my choice. I had to take some responsibility for myself. If I didn’t have a job by the end of the month, he would throw me out the apartment. He said my mum wouldn’t take me back, so I would be on my own.

I didn’t believe him. Yes, he would throw me out probably, but I wouldn’t be on my own. I had nine aunts and uncles – and that was just on my mother’s side. We were family; someone would take me in.

I pretended to Uncle Neil that I was looking for a job. I had to anyway to get my welfare payment each fortnight, but I wasn’t really. If I had been a more sensitive type I should have noticed that he was coming to the end of his tether.

That happened one night. I had just got my money and I went drinking with mates. I got back late and pretty high. Next day, Uncle Neil sat me down and gave me the lecture. I vaguely knew that at work he was a boss of something. From his tone, I knew he was used to being obeyed. He told you to jump; you asked how high? That was, I guess, the secret of his success. Decisive action.

“If you do anything like that again,” he said calmly, “I am going to take you across my knee and spank your bare bottom so hard it will glow in the dark.”

I stared at him. His gaze was steely. I hadn’t noticed before how piercing his blue eyes were. He meant it. He was deadly serious. If my mum had said something like that I would have laughed and told her where to go. I would have used the “F” word a lot. With Uncle Neil, I just gaped. My jaw probably quite literally dropped.

What could I say? I looked him up and down. He had the kind of body that had muscles on top of muscles. I was the opposite. I hadn’t taken any exercise since I was fifteen when we did PE classes at school. I was no match for Uncle Neil. If he wanted to haul me across his knee, he could.

I went to my room confused. I stood at the window and watched the yachts and small boats in the harbour below. Spanking? He’d give me a spanking? I had never been spanked in my life. The cane had been banned in schools long before I was born – before Uncle Neil was born too – and mum never hit us; Lord knows why not, I deserved it.

Uncle Neil was bluffing, I reckoned. He had already said he would throw me out of the apartment; surely he thought that was a bigger threat.

I obviously didn’t know Uncle Neil.

It was only two days later when he asked me to do some grocery shopping. He left a list and some cash. Even I wasn’t so lazy or so stupid as to ignore him. I got the bus to Tesco and wheeled my trolley around the store. Uncle Neil had been right about jobs. There was a notice near the entrance advertising part-time jobs. Apply within. I pretended not to see it.

After I left the checkout, I realised I had more than five pounds in change. He’d never notice. I didn’t think twice about it. It would be my tip for doing the shopping. I stopped at an off licence and spent the money on cheap beer.

I was pretty far gone by the time Uncle Neil got home. He asked about the change. I lied and told him there wasn’t any. He sighed, “Go to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

Deal with me? I staggered from the room. Deal with me? Was he really serious?

Next morning was Sunday; even Uncle Neil didn’t work Sunday. I laid in bed dealing with my Morning Glory. I had just shot my load into a fistful of Kleenex when he knocked on the door. Hurriedly, I tugged up my Boxer shorts. Just in time. He didn’t wait for permission, he barged in through the door.

I think his speech had been prepared. Certainly, he was fluent, short and to the point. He had warned me about me behaviour. True. He had told me what he would do. True again. So why did I do it? Good question. The answer was probably, “Because I could.” I had been getting away with things my whole life. Nobody had stopped me. It had become a habit. My life was all me, me, me.

“Come here,” he leant forward and grabbed a hunk of my hair. I yelped as he pulled me up and out of the bed. Then without a further word he dragged me from the room and hauled me into the lounge. Even in my distressed state, I could see the furniture had been rearranged. A soft-backed, armless chair had been turned away from the dining table, so it faced into the room.

Still holding a clump of my hair he sat down and stretched his legs wide. Then, he pulled me across his left knee and immediately draped his right leg over the back of my calves. I was pinned down. Uncle Neil and I are about the same height; I was too tall to go over his knee. My elbows rested on the carpet in front of me and my knees bent behind me and still my feet rested on the ground. I couldn’t see this, but my bum was raised at a forty-five-degree angle over his knee.

I was only wearing Boxer shorts and a tee-shirt that I used for sleeping. He pushed his left hand into my shoulder so hard he winded me. While I gasped for air, I felt him grip the waistband of my shorts and he yanked them down over my buttocks and down my thighs and he left them bunched at my knees.

He mumbled something that I couldn’t quite catch. It sounded like, “You deserve this and you know it.” Then he smacked the palm of his hand into my right buttock and then the left. I don’t know what a spanking is supposed to feel like; it should hurt, naturally, otherwise what’s the point. He hit me so hard and so rapidly that within seconds my bum began to heat up. He had strong arms, but very soft hands; even so I felt each and every one of the slaps as he made his way around my globes. He concentrated on the under-curves, just under the cheeks, where they meet the thighs.

I wriggled and squirmed, but with his legs across my calves and with his hand on my shoulders he had me trapped. I was going nowhere. My bum cheeks quivered and I felt my crack open and close involuntarily. Only then did I think he might have a perfect view in my crack and up my hole. I don’t think I have ever felt so humiliated. It was worse because I knew I hadn’t showered since the last time I’d taken a dump. It would be pretty rancid back there.

The pain was building into a constant throbbing across my whole backside. It hurt a lot, but I could take it. I didn’t know how many spanks he intended to deliver, but I was pretty confident he wouldn’t do much damage. Then he stopped.

I felt his body twist and he reached behind him. When I was dragged into the room I hadn’t noticed the heavy bath brush on the table. I hadn’t seen, it but soon I felt it. The first almighty whack across the centre of both cheeks took my breath away. By the time the sixth hit home, I was on fire. By the tenth I was yelping. By number twenty I was yelling.

My heart raced and I gasped for air. I couldn’t suck air into my lungs. Blood raced through my arteries so quickly I thought my ears would pop. Then I realised with horror my cock was stiff. My soldier wasn’t fully on the march, but it was standing to attention. I wriggled and writhed over Uncle Neil’s knee. It was involuntary, it was my body’s reflex action to the pounding it was getting at my rear end. Each time I moved my dick rubbed against my uncle’s leg. In no time it throbbed almost as madly as my bum.

I could hear Uncle Neil wheezing. The effort of spanking me was taking its toll, yet, on and on he hammered the bath brush into my naked arse. I didn’t know it yet but the whole of my buttocks from the top near my spine, over the mounds and into the crease was now toasted scarlet. My bum was so hot you could probably fry an egg back there.

The more he spanked, the more my body gyrated. The more my body spun, the more my prick pulsated. Any moment now I would shoot a load. What could I do? I knew when I masturbated that the way to control an orgasm was to stop tugging for a while and let it settle. I couldn’t do that here.

Even as I thought, “No! No! No!” my whole body shook, like a dog does when it comes out of water. I must have shot a pint of cum over Uncle Neil’s already cream chinos. He let out a mild screech, released my legs and shoulders and pushed me off his knee onto the carpet, where I lay face down, desperately failing to hide my humiliation.

“You dirty bugger,” Uncle Neil snarled. “Look what you’ve done to my trousers.” He tried to sound angry, but I knew he wasn’t really. I was certain, because from my position at his feet I looked up at my handsome muscular uncle towering above me and saw that he had a boner so big and so hard that it could have been a tent pole in the front of his pants.

I gazed in wonderment. My head was the clearest it had ever been. I was glowing. Never in my life had I felt so good. Uncle Neil peered down at me, our eyes met for a brief moment. We didn’t say a word to each other. What could we say? He was my uncle. But we both knew we felt the same way.

__________

More stories from Charles Hamilton the Second are at Male on Male Spanking Stories:

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Comments welcome!

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2011 with some minor revisions. All the characters are age 18 or over. Suitable for adults only.

The two men set off back with a view to beating 23-year-old Ben. Charles reflected on events. The original plan had been for them both to discipline Ben. Now, however, it seemed that Tim had muscled in and would be doing all the caning. Perhaps Charles would get a chance to discipline Ben once this speeding business was out of the way? Worse, Tim’s commanding ways had resulted in Charles bending over for a caning himself. Even worse, Charles had enjoyed it and the throbbing and pain in his arse was a reminder of that.

As they approached the house, Charles said, “Why don’t we take Ben for a ride to the prison to really scare him?”

“Good idea, we’ll pass the police station on the way,” said Tim.

“I’ll wait in the car shall I?”

“OK then, I’ll just unlock it for you.”

After what seemed like ages Charles emerged from the house, followed by a very sheepish-looking Ben. Tim noted that Charles had given the mobile phone back to Ben. The lad was clutching at it like it was a long lost lover.

“Hello Ben. Who’s been a naughty boy then?”

“Er, hello Sir. I’m very, very sorry for what I’ve done.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are. Get in the back of the car and keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. Where are we going?”

“I SAID SHUT IT!”

Ben blushed furiously and stared at his feet.

“Charles, can you stop at the police station for a minute please? I need to call in, there’s something I’ve forgotten.”

They pulled up outside the station. Tim nipped inside but he wasn’t long. He climbed back into the car.

“Next stop, HM Prison Greydale, I think, Charles.”

They pulled up outside the prison and all got out. Charles and Tim were chatting to each other at length. Ben surveyed the prison walls and the dark forbidding doors. It was a Victorian prison and it looked absolutely horrible.

“How do you fancy calling this place home then, Ben?” Charles said to him. “Tim hasn’t been able to arrange a visit for us, but of course you maybe seeing it inside soon, anyway”.

Ben’s eyes moistened.

“Yes it’s pretty grim in there, Ben. A guy in his early twenties could be a real attraction to some of the older predatory inmates, if you get my drift,” said Tim. “It’s a shame there isn’t time to organise a guided tour of the place. It’s full of history. There is even a whipping post.”

“Let’s head back. We have a lot to talk about,” said Charles.

“Sorry to be a pain, but I will need to pop into the station again,” Tim informed them both.

Ben shook his head. He was just glad to get away from the dark, satanic prison. While Tim was back in the police station, Charles and Ben talked.

“You know my feelings about discipline, don’t you Ben? What a shame that whipping post is out of commission, because that’s what you, Barry and Wayne deserve.”

“I only wish it was that easy,” Ben sighed.

Charles thought to himself, “Caught in the trap!”

Back at the house the three men went into the living room. It was time for the serious chat.

Charles started, “Ben we have been to the prison. You didn’t like the look of the place did you? Although maturely, you regretted the passing of the whipping post.”

Tim then took over, “I’ve spoken to the Superintendent. We have agreed that if you take a whipping from me, you will escape the charges. But it will have to be severe. On your bare bottom”.

Charles added, “But we are not cruel men. We won’t be using a whip on you. Instead we will use these two school canes I found when I was clearing out your Uncle’s place. Heaven knows what he used them for, but I’m glad I didn’t throw them away. Do you agree to this?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” said Ben, looking very remorseful.

“No, not really. Unless you fancy the slammer?”

“No, I don’t. So, six of the best then?” said Ben.

“No!” said Tim taking over. “You were doing sixty, so the Super and I have decided that sixty strokes would be appropriate. Your step-father agrees.”

“Sixty? I’d never be able to cope with that!”

Charles added, “As I said, we’re not cruel men. We will split it into two sessions of thirty, a fortnight apart. The Superintendent had planned to join us as a witness but that will have to wait until next time.”

“OK, OK, but I just know I’m going to regret this!”

“What you should be regretting is speeding and endangering life!”

“Now go to your room. We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Charles and Tim sat on the sofa and laughed to themselves. “So all thirty to be bare?”

“Yes why not? We might as well get the maximum pleasure from our little game.”

“Yes, it’s going to be fun. I hope he is a real wimp about it.”

“No way of knowing, really. Bring the canes, let’s go and get started!”

Up in the room, Ben was gazing out of the window. But even that was little comfort to him, for there on the hill in the distance was the prison. His eyes moistened as he dwelt upon his comeuppance. Then he heard the two men coming up the stairs, still laughing. How cruel they were, despite their claims to be otherwise.

“Well my boy, I think we’ll have those trousers off. And the briefs. Might as well take your top off, too. And your socks!”

Ben was really ashamed now that he was completely naked. Worse, he felt an erection coming on.

“Yes, exciting isn’t it?” said Tim, noticing the proud stiffy immediately. “It’s not every lad who gets his arse caned by a policeman. You are a very lucky boy. Bend over. There will be thirty strokes. Eighteen with this cane, which is apparently known as a junior cane, and twelve with the thicker senior cane which Charles is holding.”

Crack! Crack! Crack! Three whippy strokes, not too harsh, but then Tim got into his stride laying on nine more strokes of increasingly harsh intensity.

“AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHH,” Ben cried and huffed. He wriggled like a girl as the cane whipped down harshly.

“OK stand up a minute, Ben. I want to see if that erection has gone”.

It had. Ben was crying real tears after these first twelve strokes.

“Right over again! Six more with the junior cane”.

SWISH-CRACK!

“OWWWWW!”

SWISH-CRACK!

“ARRGH!”

SWISH-CRACK!

“OUCH!”

SWISH-CRACK!

“OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

“AAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!”

“There. Learning our lesson are we boy? Laws are there to be obeyed. People are to be respected. Speed limits are there for a reason!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Charles had been quiet until this point. “Stay down Ben while I check your bottom.” He gave it a most thorough check. It was something he had never had the opportunity to do before. He was smoothing the flesh, kneading the flesh, feeling the ridges. He even probed the arsehole with just the tip of his finger. He withdrew his finger and sniffed it nonchalantly, saying, “He can take a lot more punishment, Tim. Twelve really hard ones with the senior cane. Make him yelp.”

“OK Ben. Final twelve for today. With the senior cane. You will count these like this: One Sir, Two Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Sir, perfectly clear.”

SWISH-CRACK!

“One Sir.”

SWISH-CRACK!

“Two Sir!”

SWISH-CRACK!

“AAARRRGH. Three Sir!”

“Only just in time there boy, keep up!”

SWISH-CRACK!

“AAAAAAAAHHHH, four Sir.”

SWISH-CRACK!

“Five…Sir.”

SWISH-CRACK!

“SIX SIR!” he shouted.

SWISH-CRACK!

“OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! Seven Sir.”

SWISH-CRACK!

“AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHH . Eight, Sir.”

SWISH-CRACK!

“Nine, Sir, oh please…”

“SHUT UP!”

SWISH-CRACK!

“AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGH!”

“TEN”

“SIR”

“Flagging a little are we boy?”

“Yes, Sir”

“Well tough! This one will be harder!”

And so it was, and at an angle so that it crossed many of the marks of the previous strokes.

“OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! Eleven Sir!”

Another mean cross stroke followed…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGH! Twelve Sir”.

The lad had taken it comparatively well. Too well. Charles and Tim were a tad disappointed, although the caning had been thoroughly entertaining for both. Ben was less entertained and lay on the bed arse upwards crying quietly.

“Same time in a fortnight lad,” Tim said. Step-father Charles smiled and sniffed his finger once more. He rubbed his arse, thinking about the caning he himself had not long ago received and looked fondly at policeman Tim.

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2012…

1. WELL BEFORE THE HAPPY DAY

“Gerald, may I have a quiet word?”

“Yes, of course, wedding nerves?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m quite relaxed about that, as is Judith. I’ll try to be a good husband and make you a proud father-in-law. It’s about that early wedding present. The cane you’ve given her. What’s that all about?”

“Oh that! Well, it’s just in case, really. I don’t approve of hitting women, but I am a great believer in males needing a touch of discipline.”

“But I’m twenty-nine!”

“Yes, and Judith is a good deal older and more responsible than you are, son. I just thought it might help. Just in case there are problems.”

“Help? Problems? It sounds pretty barbaric to me!”

“Oh I don’t think so Jason, my boy. You see, I have experience of these matters. Two successful marriages, and a successful teaching career. I hope Judith will never need to use that cane.”

“Well I’m not happy about it.”

“Take my tip, Jason, just be loyal, hard-working and honest. Judith won’t need to use the cane then.”

2. A LITTLE NEARER THE HAPPY DAY

“Hello Gerald, I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unexpectedly.”

“Not at all, Jason. The door’s always open, you are family now, or will be soon. What brings you here? Missing Judith while she’s on her course?”

“You’ve come here about nothing?”

“No, no. It’s that cane thing again. I’m worried.”

“What’s worrying me is, it’s going to hurt.”

“Yes…”

“Well, I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Judith if she does decide to use it. I need to know how bad it is. I wondered if you could demonstrate?”

“Eh? Let me see if I’ve got this right? You want to sample the cane? And you want me to give it to you?”

“Er, no. I don’t really want it. But, maybe you should. I want this marriage to work, even in the bad times.”

“Well, I don’t know. This is a most unusual request.”

“Well, you caused it Gerald, by giving Judith that damned cane!”

“Hmmm. We do seem to have an attitude problem, Jason. Perhaps a taste of the cane would be appropriate.”

“Oh!”

“Not so keen now, then?”

“I’m not keen at all, it just seems like a good idea. Oh, and I don’t want Judith to know, please.”

“Tut, tut! Secrets, too! Alright, alright. I can see your point of view is reasonable enough. Let’s do it, and keep it our little in-laws secret!”

“Thanks, Dad, er Gerald I mean.”

“You probably won’t feel like thanking me afterwards!”

“No, maybe not, how’s this going to work then?”

“Well, let’s see then. I think six of the best to get rid of any residual attitude problem.”

“Six!”

“Yes, a good round number. You can keep your trousers on. Not that Judith may be that kind if it comes to it.”

“Oh!”

“We’ll do it in my study room. You can bend over the desk. Upstairs now, please.” The two men climbed the stairs. Jason went first, which gave Gerald a good chance to survey the bottom he was about to cane. It was a peach!

“In here?”

“Yes, that’s it. Over the desk!” Gerald instructed as he wandered over to the brass umbrella stand in the corner and selected a crook-handled cane. He sliced it through the air a few times. Jason flinched each time the cane swished. Gerald was minded to offer his future son-in-law the opportunity to back out, but then he decided not to. After all, in some ways he was looking forward to demonstrating just who was the boss. He looked at the rump offered submissively before him. It was a very tempting target. Best get stuck in!

SWISH-CRACK!

“AARGH!”

Jason leapt up clutching at his sore arse. This was murder!

“JASON, JUST YOU GET BACK DOWN THIS INSTANT!” boomed Gerald. He was minded to award a penalty stroke but decided to see how the next stroke was received.

SWISH-CRACK! “Yeeeowwww!” At least he stayed down this time.

SWISH-CRACK! “Arrrghhh!” What a noisy boy he was! Hardly like a twenty-nine-year-old…

SWISH-CRACK! “Arrrgghh!”

SWISH-CRACK! “Owww!”

SWISH-CRACK! “Ouch!”

The prescribed six strokes had been delivered. Gerald returned the cane to the umbrella stand, giving a hearty laugh as he did so. “So how was the picnic?” he asked Jason who was still bent over the desk. “You can get up now.”

“Thanks, and yes, that was no picnic!”

“Now, let me see the marks.

You didn’t take it very well, Jason, I’m afraid. In fact, it was a pretty poor performance. Leaping up and all that noise!”

“Sorry Gerald. I was surprised how bad it was.”

“Good, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Now you know what to expect from Judith if you mess her about. And it goes to show I was right about your immaturity. Any trouble, and you’ll have me and my cane to reckon with as well. Is that clear?”

“Er yes, of course!” What an alarming development for Jason…

“Now if my calculations are right, there’s six weeks until the wedding. I suggest I give you another caning one month from today, so that’s the 12th of September. That will give your bottom time to be cleared up in time for the honeymoon. It’ll do you good and you need the experience.”

“Gosh no, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Believe me, I know what some men need and you are definitely in that category.” Already, Gerald was thinking in terms of twelve strokes for the next session. He was proud of Jason in a way. The lad’s peachy arse was just made for the whippiest of canes. He mused to himself that some more, perhaps monthly thrashings might be required, even after the wedding. Maybe not?

3. AFTER THE HONEYMOON

Judith stared at the mess in the kitchen. The living room was no better. Her new husband was turning into a bit of a slob, if she wasn’t much mistaken. He was sat on the sofa eating crisps and watching rugby on the TV. It was now or never!

“Jason, come here. What’s the meaning of this mess? Get me the cane, it’s under our bed!”

“Oh Judith, I’m sorry, let me tidy up.”

She scowled at him and ordered, “The cane! Now!”

Sheepishly, he went upstairs and retrieved the cane from its hiding place. He gulped as he realised the moment he had been dreading had arrived. At least Gerald’s canings had prepared him. He knew what to expect. Or did he?

“Right! Give me that cane now! I’m going to give you a bloody good whipping. I’m not putting up with this any longer. Have you had the cane before?” She whipped the cane through the air.

“Er yes, a while back. Twice. On my trousers.”

“Well those jeans are coming off, I can tell you. And your boxers! You can keep your rugby shirt and socks on. I rather like them!”

He was relieved that she liked those, perhaps this was just going to be a sexy sort of game? She made him bend over a little coffee table in front of the TV. He was on all fours with his arse sticking out nicely.

“How many?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Bah! How many will it take to make me happy? Maybe ten or twenty!”

“Twenty? That’s a hell of a lot.”

“No, it’s not. Yes, we’ll make it twenty. Prepare yourself!”

Soon the air was full of the sound of the cane swishing down on the peachy buttocks. It landed with a resounding and satisfying thwack each time. Judith was enjoying it enormously, and chuckling out loud! Jason wasn’t enjoying it one bit, but at least the strokes were not quite as beastly as those given by Gerald.

“My naughty, naughty husband! Don’t mess with me! Stick your bottom out for the second ten!”

Just then her mobile rang. Should she answer it? Yes, she should. It was her dad on the line. He must have a psychic link!

“I’m just using the cane for the first time. It’s the best wedding present we could have had. Yes, bare bottom! The place was a real pig sty.”

Jason blushed. Oh, the embarrassment!

“Twenty I think. You think it should be twenty-four? Yes, more traditional, I suppose. But no, I’m going to stick at twenty. No, he won’t be doing it again in a hurry. I’m halfway through. Yes, lovely red lines. He’s making a lot of fuss. How’s mum? Yes, we’ll come over for tea later. Bye. Love you!”

♥ Site recommended story ♥

I’ve always felt that I wanted to be spanked, and I’m not sure why.

It was always ladies I fantasised about until I was about 22, when I made a friend who would introduce me to the world of adult discipline.

To set the scene here, I was a young police officer. I met John, who was 59 and a retired teacher (or so he told me). I had been schooled in Scotland and he had taught on both sides of the border. I met him as a result of a call to assist with some children that were causing a nuisance. We had a chat over coffee about ‘the kids of today’ and so on. Over a few visits the story was always the same, about people lacking discipline nowadays and eventually I guess we both learnt that each other was more than interested in the topic. He did ask me if I was disciplined at home and in school, and did I think I was better for it. In hindsight, nowadays he would be called a pervert, but there you are and remember this was the late ’70s.

He made an unusual comment one visit, asking, “Do you ever miss the way a spanked bottom or tawsed hands dealt with an issue and then it was over?” I answered, “I suppose so, in a strange way.”

As I left that night John made his move and said, “You know David, if you ever felt the need to revisit those days of a spanked bottom, then you only need ask me to do it for you.”

Well I left, and I gave my cock a thorough workout later that day. The following day I called him and spoke nervously about the comment. Not wanting to make a complete fool of myself if I got it wrong, I asked, “What did you mean last night when I left, about if I ever felt the need or something?”

“David, I know some adults still miss that old fashioned spanking thing and as a friend if you felt you needed it, then I would do it for you.” It was a s simple as that, but it had taken about six visits before he asked. I said that I thought I did and he said, “Well if you do David, bring your PE kit to change into and we will see to it!”

Two days later I turned up in uniform along with a bag with shorts and vest in it, and we had a coffee. “Did you bring anything with you today, David?”, he asked. Nervously I showed him the plastic bag and then its contents. John then went on to try to relax me, which was impossible. He told me he had friends who he spanked, and not to think I was unusual in any way.

Eventually he said something about “So should we go and deal with you then?” We stood and went to what was a small study. It had a desk with leather chair, a hard-backed chair in the corner, and a small cupboard on one wall.

“So how should I deal with you, David?”

I said, “Just like my father would, Sir.” There had been no request to call him Sir, it just felt right.

“I will leave you to change then into your shorts and vest.”

When he returned some five minutes later I was stood there with an erection in my PE shorts. He smiled and pulled the hard-backed chair out, told me to go over his lap and then he spanked me over my shorts for a while. I left that night disappointed, to be honest.

The next time I visited, we chatted about it. I had brought my kit again. He asked me how it had been. I suddenly blurted out that “It was not quite as I expected.” Asked why, I said, “Well I was always spanked on the bare bum and it always really stung. I always felt as if I had been punished then.”

John looked at me, smiled, and said “Ah David, so you want a proper spanking do you, pants down, over my knee and one that teaches you a lesson?”

“Well yes, Sir,” I stuttered. “It’s just that I always thought spankings should be like that.”

As a result, a few minutes later I was at John’s side and having my shorts and pants pulled down. This caused my erection to stick out (and be ignored by John). I was then pulled over and I got the hardest spanking I could remember. I recall yelling out “Oh Sir, I am so sorry!”

After the spanking, I was made to stand in the corner, bottom bare and hands on head. That was the way it went for a few months until one day I turned up without my kit. Over coffee we were chatting about spanking and I said, “It makes me regret forgetting my kit today.” John smiled and said, “Well David, I think, if you don’t mind, and as I have seen most of you anyway, we can do without the PE kit from now on, if you want.”

We went up to the study and John for the first time stood watching me and said “Right David I want all your clothes off today.” I was soon stood naked and erect as he gazed at me. “Does it excite you that I am going to spank you David?”

“Yes Sir!”

“Do you usually have a wank afterwards, thinking of me spanking you?”

“Yes, usually Sir!”

He moved closer to me. “Do you ever think of me touching your cock David, or does that thought never enter your head?”

“I do Sir, sometimes.”

His hand started to move towards my cock. He touched it and it stood even more erect. He pulled back and then had me over his knee, spanking that erection out of me. It was a harder than usual spanking and I nearly cried. Afterwards he put his hand between my cheeks and made me erect again. So it was that I was wanked for the first time by another guy. That became the norm and I would visit for a spanking at least twice a week and I started to visit him on my days off. It was only a short while before I started to wank him off as well.

picture by Jonathan

After about six months he re-introduced me to the tawse. In doing so, he revealed his love of tawsing. The norm then became for me to have to take six of the tawse along with any spanking. Normally, this was after the spanking, as he liked my hands to be warm when I touched him. After a tawsing, they were really hot!

It was a year before I got caned and I was warned how sore that experience would be. We had discussed it before, but I was still rather unaware of the pain a cane could cause. I recall being told that the cane would be applied next time I came and to make an appointment on a day off. He promised me a real ‘six of the best’ and I got that, for sure.

It was six days later. I visited him nervously. This time, John was very different. “Come in boy!” was his command and I was taken directly to his study. A a cane lay on the desk. He lectured me and told me I was to be caned, six strokes and if I stood up or touched my bottom that stroke would not count and he would add another.

Naked, I stood waiting and Sir said to me in a softer tone, “Now remember David, you asked for this and I need to give you it as I would if it were a real punishment. It is going to hurt like nothing you have experienced before, but I have explained all that already, haven’t I?”

“Yes Sir”, I said.

“And you still want to find out what a real caning is like?”

“Yes Sir, please Sir.”

His attitude changed suddenly, “Right boy! Over the desk, and grip the far side.”

The cane was tapped a few times before it thrashed down. The sound felt delayed, as if it came after the hit . There was a distinct moment when I felt nothing, but then a fearsome pain cut through me! I stood up and grabbed my bum, only to hear a very unsympathetic, “Get down boy! I expected better!”

The next stroke elicited a real yell from me followed by a third then a fourth which both did the same. It was true agony and I had to wait for the fifth stroke. The sixth cut deep into my cheeks and then Sir spoke, “Now you have to be given the first stroke again and then one extra. Are you ready boy?”

“Sir, please no more! I’m so sore!”, I whined.

“You wanted a real caning, now take the last two like a man, David!”

“Yes Sir!”

Almost immediately the cane delivered the penultimate stroke, followed shortly by the eighth, final stroke. In tears, I stood up and Sir cuddled me, and then made me stand in the corner. After a while the flames of pain diminished. He led me to the bedroom where he undressed and we got into bed. In the end, I stayed the whole night after being taken out for a curry.

Our relationship lasted for over six years and during that time my bottom was constantly spanked and caned. My hands were tawsed so often that I lost count! It was the only time I have had a long relationship with another guy. Believe it or not, the reason we stopped was because by then I’d met my wife. The marks were too conspicuous to have. She became my chastiser. I have however, always retained a desire to be spanked by another older guy and especially to be hand tawsed by one. I have met a few guys who can tawse school-style and are happy to spank a naughty lad like me.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Ah, the good old 1980s…

I stood next to him at the stainless steel trough urinal. I felt embarrassed and if I hadn’t been bursting, I’d have gone into one of the sit-downs. I sighed noisily as I let my river of gold flow urgently.

I couldn’t believe it! He was staring at my uncircumcised cock, quite unashamedly. He was checking me out, alright. Then he stared into my eyes and winked! I blushed and concentrated on shaking the last few drops from my pride and joy.

Outside, he called me over. “Hey! Don’t be shy. Let’s go for a coffee.”

I stared into his brown eyes. He had a commanding manner, and he really did look special in a tweed jacket, white shirt, paisley cravat and pale trousers. I nodded, accepting the invitation and followed him obediently.

We sat in the dingy café on the seafront. I stirred my frothy coffee and stared again into his dreamy eyes.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“Well, there’s not much to tell. I’m 22. I’m new in town. I’ve got a Civil Service job. It pays the rent, I suppose.”

It was his turn to nod. Then he had a funny request, “Tell me about school.”

“School? School?” I was a little surprised by his interest. “Well, it was a typical grammar, perhaps with public school pretentions.”

“Strict, then?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll say! I was slippered and caned a hell of a lot!”

“Ah, yes. The cane. I’ve got one at home.”

“You have? That’s a bit strange. How come?”

“I’ve got friends who like to be reminded of their school days.” That was all he said, although he did wink again.

“You have? You mean they come to you for the cane?”

He nodded again, saying simply, “Yes! Surprised?”

“Well, yes. I’ve heard that that sort of thing goes on. Gosh. You know, some of our teachers were real sadists.”

“Homosexual? Oh, that’s another word I don’t much care for. You do seem to have a gift for picking words I don’t like. Most unfortunate. Tell me now, did you enjoy your canings?”

“No, of course not! They hurt like hell. They were meant to.”

“Surely you found them exciting though?”

“Good boy, We’re getting to the truth now, aren’t we? The cane always gets to the truth! Fancy some excitement at my place then?”

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” I asked, as I finished my coffee.

“No, not at all. Seems to me that you could use a little excitement in your life. Well, am I right?”

“I’m not sure, Sir. I don’t like it here, let’s go over there to the pub.”

“The Rose And Crown?”

Well, that’s where we went. It was easier to talk there, and I slipped a few coins into the jukebox. Soon, heavy riffing from Sabbath and Steppenwolf hid our conversation from the tourists and other lunchtime customers.

I had to ask him, “You’re a retired teacher, then?”

“Lazy students?”

“I was never good at exams, so I didn’t get the chance to go to polytechnic or university.”

“A lazy grammar school boy, eh?”

“Well, a bit. My parents were a bit disappointed.”

“A caning’s just what you need, my boy. You are obviously full of guilt. Come on, let’s go!”

I downed the dregs of my lager and lime and followed him again. We walked for miles, it seemed. He didn’t say an awful lot, and as we made our way I felt increasingly stupid. Was I really going to allow this man to cane me? This man who had been staring at me and my cock in the grim public toilets? My head was swimming a bit. I was never able to hold my drink well. What had I let myself in for?

Eventually, we arrived at his cliff-top home. It was impressive. Obviously, being a polytechnic lecturer had its rewards. He stuck the key in the lock and twisted it purposefully. I admired his hairy hand as he did so.

“I need another pee,” I said, a little surprised and embarrassed.

“Oh, you do, do you boy? Well, I rather think I’d better watch you again! I don’t want any nonsense from you.”

In fact, he didn’t just watch. He held my penis from behind as I emptied my bladder. At the same time, I could feel his body pressing into mine, a rampant erection sticking into my bum crack. This was well kinky.

We headed for his living room. He frowned at me and told me to strip.

“What, everything?” I asked in astonishment.

“Yes, everything, I only cane bare bottoms. And I’ve already seen your penis, haven’t I, boy? So there’s nothing to hide. Besides, you have a lovely body.”

“I have?”

“Of course you have!”

Flattery won the day, of course, and I was soon as naked as a jaybird. He eyed my nakedness, my vulnerability and my shame. I felt my cock springing into life. Shit!

“Right, into the corner with you! Face the wall! I’ll just go and fetch my cane.”

He returned after a couple of minutes. He commanded me to turn around, and I was greeted by an unexpected sight. He too was naked! And there in his hands was a wicked-looking school cane, around three feet in length and with a shepherd’s crook handle. He had a huge grin as he used the cane to point to a dining chair. I was soon bent right over it, clutching the edge of the flat leather seat and offering my bottom most submissively. I expected the caning to start imminently, but it didn’t. Instead he pushed the cane gently in between my bum cheeks, with the handle pointing up. He disappeared again.

While he was gone, alcohol-fuelled panic kicked in. I wanted to run! If I slipped my black Jockeys on I could run like hell and could pass for a swimmer or holidaymaker! However, I decided not to. After all, a large part of me wanted this. I fidgeted nervously. He returned, and I craned my head to see what he was doing. He had a Polaroid instant camera! He snapped a picture of my bottom with the cane in place! Carefully, he placed the resulting photo in front of me, so that I could see it.

“That’s a ‘before’ picture!” he laughed. Gently he removed the cane, then lashed it down viciously on my naked haunches! I gasped as the pain kicked in and my flesh felt aflame! And all from one stroke! But strokes two, three, four, five and six followed in rapid fire style. By now, my buttocks felt shredded. Wave after wave of pain followed. He paused and laughed. Obviously, I was just the latest in a long line of catches that this distinguished fellow had managed to pull in our seedy seaside town. I heard the camera whirr into life again, and soon a photo of my damaged cheeks was placed before me. He’d made it quite clear he hadn’t finished with me, not by a long way! Another six strokes followed, at a more leisurely pace, and after these he groped and massaged my sore buttocks for what seemed like several minutes. A finger probed at my arsehole. I don’t think I wanted to give way, but he was teasing insistently, and I gasped as suddenly he was in and probing! I thanked god it was just his index finger, but he wiggled it around inside me, giving me both pleasure and some pain. Eventually, he pulled it out and sniffed it with some satisfaction. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen fit to photograph this interlude.

A thirteenth stroke cracked down on me. It was then that he informed me that the full tariff was twenty-four strokes. I took them with increasing discomfort. By the late teens I felt my arse could take no more. I told him so in no uncertain manner. He scoffed and pushed my head back down and sliced another stroke down on me, and then another. We were at twenty. Again, he slipped the cane between my cheeks and then he snapped me again with his camera.

“Four more to go, my disobedient, lazy boy!” He laughed again and moved closer. I felt his erect penis rubbing on my crack. His intentions were clear. I’d never done it with a man, and if it hadn’t been for the twenty-first stroke crashing down, I might have dwelt on the dangers to my virginity. But as another stroke fell, all I could do was concentrate on the pain the cane was giving me. The final two strokes were the worst! He seemed to have found some extra strength from somewhere and by now I was both wounded and fully conquered.

“There!” he said cheerfully. “Wasn’t that exciting? I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!”

Slowly I stood up, rubbing my bottom like a naughty schoolboy. I had enjoyed it too, in a strange way. Evidently, he’d forgotten to take a final, ‘after’ picture. I wasn’t minded to remind him.

“Now, how about some dessert?”

I knew what he meant. He wanted my cherry as his dessert. I nodded. I wanted it too.

“Dangerous times!” he said to me as he slid a condom onto his penis.

I’ve still got a couple of faded polaroids as a souvenir of that day, and I can still remember what his cock felt like as it thrust in and out of my freshly-caned bum. It felt wonderful.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Part 2 of this hot, sexually explicit spanking story by very special guest author David Stewart. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are aged 18 or over.

David’s life was changing for the better. After finding his new “Uncle Harry”, David started to talk more openly with this man. Harry had never married and admitted to David he was bisexual having had several relationships with both men and women.

It was a fortnight after that spanking that David broached the subject and commented how his bottom had taken a long time to get back to normal. “Aye, the reality far worse than the fantasy?” his uncle responded.

“Well not so much because I had never realised how good it could be having someone do what you did to me.” His landlord smiled at his charge. “Oh yes son, there are good parts to discipline, but discipline is still needed.”

“Will that ever happen again?” asked David.

Mr Harrison smiled and eyed up David before saying “Follow me lad,” and taking him up to the spare bedroom. Inside there was a desk and hard backed chair and a cupboard, and when the cupboard was opened what David saw inside made him gasp. There were a few belts, or tawses like the one that had been used on him so painfully, along with several crook handled canes. Mr Harrison took a cane out and handed it to David. “Look son, you’re not going to tell your father, just as I am not, so here is what happens. I engage in some spanking play with a few other lads and they come here occasionally for a spanking or caning. In your case, you are in my charge and as and when you deserve it I shall spank you, use a tawse and possibly cane you. However, as you found out two weeks ago, I do not do that in a fainthearted way, and when I thrash a lad I do it for real. It’s the best way, you see.”

David was inspecting one of the canes, and swished it a few times, much to the amusement of Mr Harrison. “I wonder what that feels like?” said David.

Mr Harrison said, “I will reject the temptation of saying you can try it now David!” Then seeing the look on the lodger’s face added, “But I tell you what, I will give you one stroke so you have an idea if you want.” Rather too eagerly David agreed and Mr Harrison told him to, “Drop your trousers and bend across that table.” David obeyed and soon felt his pants being pulled down. Nothing was said and a tap on his bottom told him the stroke was coming soon and then WHAAAAP and a sting went through his bottom that made him yell and stand up to rub his bottom!

Mr Harrison laughed and added, “So you now know and perhaps will avoid it in the future.”

Over the next few weeks, the events of that day were mentioned a few times, but never in much detail. Eventually David asked, “Mr Harrison?”

“Yes David?”

“Please tell me again, what kind of things would I be spanked for?”

Mr Harrison put his book down and eyed David curiously, “For swearing, lateness, bad behaviour, just like I told you before. But you have been good David, that spanking taught you and I think the fear of the cane helped?”

“Mr Harrison?”

“Yes David?”

You said other boys visit you, Why do they come?”

“They come because they feel they need discipline. Some it helps to lead a good life and others just need it.”

“What, what if I felt I needed that Mr Harrison?”

Mr Harrison looked and smiled and said, “If that is ever the case then you will come to me, call me Uncle Harry and tell me why you need it. But be warned David…you know at first hand what I can do.”

Two sleepless nights later, David entered the lounge just after 7pm, “Uncle Harry?”

Mr Harrison looked up from his paper with a stern expression, “Yes what do you want?”

A nervous David stuttered out, “I feel I need some discipline in my life Uncle.”

“Ah, you took your time. And what kind of discipline do you need then?”

David had expected Uncle Harry to take over and just get on with it, so was taken aback. “I feel I need to be spanked and belted again, Uncle Harry.”

“Right then,” Uncle replied.

Then with a rush of blood to the head, David spurted out, “And caned please, Uncle.”

“You want caned as well, do you David?”

“Yes, I think so Uncle. Yes I do.”

They both went to the spare room and Uncle Harry drew out the hard backed chair. “Right then, you know the drill, strip down to your pants!” David did as instructed and was soon stood shaking with a tent pole in his pants. Uncle Harry came over to David and stood in front of him. “You’re a brave lad for asking me to cane you and spank and tawse you. Well you’re going to find that Mr Sympathetic I am not!” At that he led David to the chair, sat down and pulled his pants down exposing a rampant cock. “Aye lad, I know what you are thinking about. You are thinking about the afters last time, but believe me there is a lot of starters and main course first! He was pulled over and a spanking was administered that made him yell and apologise and all those things you say under such circumstances. He was then taken to the bedroom and laid on the bed and given a real roasting with the tawse. He bucked and jumped and got 24 strokes over his arse and back of legs before being allowed up and sent to wait in the other spare room.

When Uncle arrived he had left David standing for 20 minutes and found him still erect and up for an adventure. Ignoring this he ordered David to, “Bend across that desk and hold tight. You have twelve strokes coming and no doubt you will jump up, but for every time you do, or or if you swear, I will add another two strokes.” David bent over the desk preparing for the worst…and it arrived soon after. He yelled and stood after that first stroke and his even-tempered Uncle shouted at him, “Get back over that table David and remember YOU ASKED FOR THE CANE! We can be here all night if you want.”

The second stroke caused him to yell louder and the third the same. By the time he had taken the first six he was sobbing and regretting everything, but scared to get back up. The next six strokes covered his entire bottom and the tears just flowed. There were still the two extra strokes and these were placed on the top of his legs, just under the bottom. David howled and cried loudly.

“Now David stand up and go have a bath then get into bed.”

“But Uncle it’s just gone 8pm!”

“Don’t disobey me David! You want treated like a naughty lad then your bedtime is as soon as you have been thrashed.”

David trooped off and ran a bath and when he entered the burning of his bottom and the water almost brought new tears. His Uncle entered the bathroom and helped him wash and then tenderly dried him before taking him to his room. “No need for PJ’s tonight,” he said, and David got into bed. Uncle produced some lotion and soothed David’s bottom the way he had done before, and then he cupped the lad’s balls and started to rub his hard young cock. “Was it worth it David?” Uncle asked.

“I think it will be Uncle Harry,” a sheepish David replied.

“Did the cane do what you expected? You were ever so eager to sample it.”

“Oh yes, Uncle Harry! It was worse than I imagined…but at the same time it feels lovely now.”

“Good David,” said his Uncle and continued applying the lotion. His fingers slid between David’s now opening legs and probed delicately at his anus only to find David actively pushing back and forcing the finger to enter.

”Is this what good boys get after a caning Uncle?” smiled David.

“It’s a special after a caning, David.”

David arched backwards to push further back on the finger and allow his Uncle’s other hand to grasp his throbbing cock. “That is most of my fantasies completed Uncle, thank you.”

His Uncle stood up with a smile, and with a “Shoosh!” to David started to undress himself in the full gaze of the lad. David had eyes for the hairy manly cock that stood erect before him and as his Uncle guided his hand to it. For the first time, David was touching another man’s cock.

“Did you mean what you said about being used David?”

“Oh yes Uncle! Yes I did!”

“And do you want all your fantasies to become reality?”

David blushed a deeper red than before and whispered, “Please Uncle, I do.”

“Then hand me what is in the top drawer over there.”

David opened the drawer and took out a foil-wrapped condom. He knew all his dreams were about to come true.

To Be Continued…

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot, sexually explicit spanking story by very special guest author David Stewart. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are aged 18 or over.

David was 32 years old and struggling to find suitable employment. He stayed at home with his mother and father but resented the strict upbringing that had kept him there. His personal freedom was not really his own. His father in particular always appeared to want to know where he was, with whom and what he was doing. Much as David was an adult he still referred to his father as Sir and mother as Ma’am and had a healthy respect for older people, something that had always been uppermost in his upbringing. But now at 32 he was leaving home and moving 185 miles away to Birmingham. He was starting a six month contract with the hopes of a full-time contract, and was eager to do well.

His father had put him in touch with an old friend who they knew through the church and who would provide the lodgings for David. On that Sunday afternoon David arrived at the lodgings and introductions were made by his father, who had driven him down. The landlord was Mr Harrison, an older chap about 60 years of age, who lived alone. He had a spare room and was letting this out to David. His bags moved in and a refreshing cup of tea taken, his father bid farewell to his son and told Mr Harrison to, “Look after David, he can be unruly but I am sure you will keep on top of him, Harry.”

His father gone David and Mr Harrison sat down for a chat. He asked about his life and his work and then stated, “So now, David, the house rules. I am not a late-nighter and expect silence after 10pm. If you are about I do not expect to be awoken and you will behave in my house, or I will deal with it.” That left David wondering. “My house, and my rules, David. You are paying a pittance compared with other rooms round here because I know and respect your father. In turn I expect you to show the same kind of respect to me. No swearing or drinking in the house. No girlfriends in your room and keep the noise down. You understand?”

David agreed to these and for the first few weeks all was well and they got on. David was careful and respectful, till that Friday night.

David had just received his first full pay and went out straight from work for a pint…and that stretched to several and he got home just after midnight. Mr Harrison was in the living room and not happy. “You’re drunk lad, and your tea is wasted. Get to your bed and we will deal with this tomorrow.”

In the morning, with a sore head David was suddenly awoken by Mr Harrison just after 7am. The sheets were pulled back revealing a naked David who jumped and shouted, “Fucks sake, Harry!”

“Get your arse out of bed lad and come down and see me NOW!”

David had never heard Mr Harrison swear like that and was embarrassed about being seen naked. Once dressed, David went downstairs and found Mr Harrison not very happy. He lectured David in manners, swearing, shouting, keeping him awake and so forth and then said, “So lad you can either let me deal with this or get on yer bike back home.”

“Deal with it, how?” David asked.

“I will give your worthless drunken bottom a taste of discipline lad, that is what, and I am sure your father will agree with that. Do you want to ask him?” So saying, he handed the phone to David. David’s reaction was one of disbelief knowing that his father would go crazy and probably do what Mr Harrison was suggesting anyway.

While he was working this out Mr Harrison helped him, “Aye, your father has told me how he still tans your bum when required, so no worries there then.”

David looked sheepishly and said, “OK Mr Harrison, as you wish.”

“Good. Now get back up to your bedroom and I will be up shortly.”

David waited for almost 20 minutes for the expected visit and when Mr Harrison entered he did so with some authority, saying, “Right lad, get your trousers off!”

David took his jeans off, feeling foolish.

“Now your top as well lad.” David was shaking a bit and very nervous but this was always how his father made him prepare as well. Had the two friends been talking? David was left in just his shorts and socks, looking at the floor.

Mr Harrison sat on the side of the bed and said, “Now lad, I am going to give your arse a good leathering today. It has been a while, but I am sure I can still teach a lesson to a naughty lad like you. You have a choice, you can run away and tell your father or you can apologise and ask me to punish you. If I do it then it goes no further than thee and me.”

David was becoming strangely excited, which caused him more embarrassment. He said, “Please Mr Harrison, I am sorry. I will accept whatever punishment you give me.”

“Aye, what a sight lad! A 30-odd-year-old still needing his arse spanked and you’re stood there obviously thinking it will be fun!” At that he slipped David’s pants down and slapped his erect cock.

“I hope your not going to make a mess over my knees lad, but over you go.”

David was soon over Mr Harrisons knees looking at the duvet and after some moving about a hard hand started to rub his bottom cheeks.

“Ready?”

“Yes Sir!” and so it started. No warm up here, just a steady smack from Mr Harrison’s palm on each cheek. David shouted out, he apologised, he begged for it to stop…but it continued for a good five minutes.

He was told to get up and Mr Harrison commented that David was, “Not so big and excited now, eh lad?”

He was stood in the corner while Mr Harrison left the room and when he came back David turned round to face his chastiser. To his shock, Mr Harrison held in his hands a length of leather split in two halfway down. It looked about quarter of an inch thick and David knew its purpose.

Involuntarily David’s erection grew again. Mr Harrison couldn’t miss it. He smiled at this and commented, “Ah David, does the idea of your ‘Uncle Harry’ taking the tawse to you excite you?”

“Uncle Harry?”

“Yes lad I think at these times you should call me Uncle Harry, don’t you?”

“Yes Sir…I mean Uncle Harry”

David relaxed a bit and also noticed that there was a growing bulge in Mr Harrisons pants as well. Uncle Harry said, “Aye lad, not all hard work this disciplining. Now, get yourself on the bed face down while I teach you another thing or two.”

Laid on the bed his uncle started to use the tawse on his bared buttocks and David reacted as one would expect. He yelled and begged for it to stop and eventually after about 24 strikes it did. David was sniffling and sobbing and Mr Harrison sat on the bed and held him close, comforting him. “Wait there,” he said and returned a few moments later with a bottle of cream lotion which he started to rub on David’s burning cheeks.

“You took that well lad, so we’ll draw a line under your behaviour.”

“Thank you, Uncle Harry,” said David.

“Till the next time,” smiled his new uncle.

The lotion was soothing and soon the burning was becoming more bearable, and the rubbing in of the lotion was a good feeling. His uncle let a finger slip between his new nephew’s cheeks. David’s reaction was to part his legs slightly. This encouraged his uncle and soon a finger was caressing the bum hole and then slipping in and out. Nothing was said and as his hand slipped to cup his balls David found himself erect again.

“Do you find being thrashed exciting, David?” asked his uncle.

“Oh no, uncle. No.” he replied.

A sudden slap on his bottom was followed by, “I don’t want lies, David!”

“Does it excite you?”

“Oh uncle, it does a bit, but it hurts and I don’t know why, but it does excite me..it always has done.”

“Always? Explain, David!”

“I have always, as far back as I can recall, thought about being spanked by other people, just like you just did.”

“And did you toss yourself off thinking about that, David?”

“Oh yes, uncle.”

His uncle’s hands were now moving on his nephew’s cock in a slow but nice way. “And tell me David, what else did you do in these fantasy dreams? What were you made to do?”

There was silence and the wanking stopped. “Tell me, David!”

“I well, I was made to suck cock, uncle.”

The wanking continued, “Good, and what else?”

“Oh Uncle, this is humiliating, but I was used by them.”

“Used by who?”

“The guys in my wanks.”

“Have you ever sucked cock, David?”

“No Uncle. Never.”

“Have you ever touched another man’s cock?”

“No, never ever.”

“But you want to suck a cock and to feel one, don’t you?”

Heavy breathing and a gargled, “Yes, yes!” came out as the 32-year-old could not hold back and shot spunk in convulsions all over his uncle’s hand and up his own belly and chest.

His uncle stood up and said, “I will leave you to clean up, but I think your stay here will be educational,” and left.

David thought to himself. “Shit! I have just been spanked and leathered by my father’s friend. He got me to confess that I fantasise about sucking guys off and being shagged, and then he wanked me off. Fuck me, that was amazing! What have I let myself in for?”

The answer to that question was to be an educational whirlwind over the next few months.

To Be Continued…

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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picture by Jonathan, R.I.P.

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The Cane

Many people use the rattan cane in their adult relationships. Sometimes this is for domestic discipline. Others use it to spice up their sex lives. Some just like recreating experiences from long ago. You will find fictional stories here which explore these themes. All the characters are aged 18 or over.

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All characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey" - Kenji Miyazawa, author and poet (1896-1933)

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This site is dedicated to the memory of Jonathan (aka jaybee300), friend, muse, gentleman and master, 1954-2014, R.I.P.